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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511539">Noa</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lennon Morillo bonus stories [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Have We Met - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:47:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“...I’m Lennon. I’m... twenty-three years old. I lived in a tiny town near the border for most of my life. My grandpa’s from Mexico, uh, he raised me mostly. I like Kate Bush, and frogs, and… one of my best friends died yesterday.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lennon Morillo bonus stories [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Noa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Putas, her father used to say. Whores, that was what all women with dyed hair were. In the town center, the only women you would find with their hair bright white or red were the prostitutes Lennon’s father used to holler profanities at from his car. Lennon never found them any good or bad. They simply existed, just as much part of the scenery as anyone else unlucky enough to live in that town. </p><p>Now, Lennon had her own hair bleached and cut short. When she heard of Ezra’s death, she had to do something, something permanent to get rid of the feeling of bile rising up in her throat. The old Lennon had to die. She just had to. She was too entangled with memories of Ez, of the times they got drinks together, the times they explored the tunnels underneath the highway, and, obviously, the time by Rawling’s hospital bed, where Ezra had offered to kiss her and Lennon hadn’t had enough willpower to decline. That Lennon had been a lovesick little kid, with her stupid ponytail and her blushing and looking up through her eyelashes all pretty. </p><p>Yet she easily fell into the trap of dehumanizing herself. In the hotel room mirror, she looked tired, bleached hair making her skin stand out as ashy and gross. She had bags under her eyes, too. The sweater she had thrifted earlier smelled intensely of the cheap laundry detergent they used at the shop. The lights were on but the room remained dark anyways, almost as if on purpose. To make her feel worse. </p><p>She looked exactly like the kind of woman her father used to speak so badly of. And she knew that he had been a mean old man, bitter that Lennon’s mother had left him, but still. Despite everything, it still hurt to know her father wouldn’t like her the way she was. But she couldn’t go back. She just couldn’t. </p><p>Staying in the hotel room was just going to make it all worse. What she needed right now was a distraction. When she was walking through Rosewater during the day, she saw a nightclub, then closed. She supposed she could try and go there. She’d never really gone clubbing before, but she knew what it was like from the older girls she used to go to school with. They used to make their own clothes, or thrift shop and then alter old oversized men’s shirts into cute dresses. They always warned the younger girls, as they were putting their big hoop earrings in, that you should never accept a drink from a man. Always get it from the bar yourself. And if you leave a drink unattended, that drink is dead. No matter how expensive it was. </p><p>Today, she vowed, she would accept a free drink from a man. She would lug her drunken body back to the hotel room, and lay on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit the next morning. She was going to have a horrible night, and she was going to enjoy it. </p><p>At the club, she wasn’t the only one with bleached hair, or even the only girl who looked like she had been crying. The music playing was a bit too loud for her liking, and she could barely see where she was going as she made her way through the dancing masses. But once she had found a spot, and got a bit of a feel for the rhythm, the dancing came to her automatically. </p><p>Even though she got elbowed by quite a few people, it still felt nice to let go for a bit. And after a few songs, she was a whole lot sweatier, but far less panicked. She actually felt a bit nice. Though it really was time for a drink.</p><p>This place sold many kinds of colorful cocktails. She didn’t know what to choose, and it was too loud to tell the man behind the bar anything anyways, so she just pointed at a random drink on the plasticized drink menu, and sighed in relief when she saw the man nodding. The thing she ended up getting was bright blue and had a tiny little umbrella in it.</p><p>There were some slightly less crowded parts of the club, near the side, so she went there to have her drink. It was very zesty, and it surprised her so much she started coughing.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Someone yelled near her ear, although due to the music the volume wasn’t that surprising. Lennon nodded through coughs. “It’s very sour!” </p><p>“You didn’t know that before you ordered it?” the person asked. Lennon looked up, and saw a man staring back at her. He had long, black hair, and was wearing what looked like eye shadow. Lennon smiled politely, and shrugged. “I just pointed at something. I don’t usually… do… all this.” </p><p>“Makes sense.” the man shrugged. “You don’t look like part of the crowd that usually hangs out here.” </p><p>Lennon frowned, because she felt like a carbon copy of at least five different girls she’d seen out there. The man took a sip of his own drink, which just looked to be a regular bottle of beer. Boring. </p><p>“What do you mean, not like part of the crowd?” Lennon asked, and sipped her drink again, more careful this time. Now that she was past her shock, it was actually quite nice, if a bit too sweet for her taste. </p><p>“Well, I haven’t seen you around before, so that’s a big thing.” the man explained. Lennon shot him a look, and he shrugged again. “Also, you’re wearing a sweater while out partying. That’s what tipped me off. I don’t think you’re partying at all. I think you’re avoiding something.” </p><p>“Woah, way to psycho-analyze me.” Lennon quipped. “...and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet.” </p><p>“Would it make you feel better if I did?” the man asked. Lennon took another sip of her drink, then shook her head. Her voice went a bit soft. “I don’t think anything can make me feel better right now.” </p><p>The man didn’t say anything, and Lennon grimaced, looking apologetic. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spring that on you outta nowhere. We can just pretend I never said that, if you like.” </p><p>“I’m Noa.” The man suddenly said, holding his hand out. “That’s without an H at the end. Noa Sealing.” </p><p>“Lennon.” Lennon said, shaking his hand. “Lennon Morillo. But my friends just say Lennon.” </p><p>Noa chuckled, then straightened his back. “I’m going to go buy you a drink. I don’t know what it is that’s bothering you, but I already know I don’t want you to be upset about it.” </p><p>Lennon smiled up at him, sadly. “You really don’t have to. It’s alright. I … I shouldn’t have used you to vent at just now. Like, I barely know you.” </p><p>“Well, what do you want to know? My name is Noa. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’ve lived in Rosewater all my life. I fancy myself a bit of a goth, and… I peaked in high school a bit. Yikes. I work at an orchard, part-time, and I like to read poetry. That’s all, really. You know all the basics.” </p><p>Lennon sighed. This Noa fellow seemed really intent on cheering her up, and to her surprise, it was actually kind of working.</p><p>“Alright, you have a point. I’m Lennon. I’m... twenty-three years old. I lived in a tiny town near the border for most of my life. My grandpa’s from Mexico, uh, he raised me mostly. I like Kate Bush, and frogs, and… one of my best friends died yesterday.”</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss.” Noa said. Lennon felt her lower lip begin to tremble, and she bit her lip in an attempt to stop it. Noa gave her a sympathetic look, and slightly opened his arms, signalling for her to hug him. And she did, totally dropping her plastic cocktail glass in the process. He wrapped his arms around him, and she only now noticed how cold she had been before that. Noa was huge compared to her, and she felt tiny with his big arms around her.</p><p>“Thank you.” Lennon said, and Noa just squeezed her tighter. She assumed people were probably looking at them, but when they separated, she looked around to find nobody looking their way at all.</p><p>“I don’t…” Noa began, hesitantly, “think... that you should be drinking if you’re mourning someone.” </p><p>Lennon sighed, nodding. She involuntarily shivered a bit, now that she wasn’t enveloped in warmth anymore. Despite her sweater, she was still only wearing a skirt, no tights, and a pair of cheap black mary janes that did nothing to keep the warmth in. </p><p>Carefully, Noa breached the next subject. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”</p><p>“I have a motel room… but…” Lennon sniffled a bit. “I don’t… I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to see myself. Please don’t- please don’t make me…” </p><p>Noa frowned, looking at the girl in front of him. She looked like a mess. He wanted to help her. “Listen. Why don’t you come home with me tonight. I have a guest bedroom that you can sleep in. you won’t have to be alone, and next morning we’ll… we’ll see, I suppose. It’s whatever you feel comfortable with, alright?”</p><p>Lennon couldn’t take it anymore, and sobbed, immediately clasping her hand over her mouth afterwards. Noa was looking at her with such pity it made her want to puke. She felt horribly guilty. She couldn’t possibly ruin his night out like that, could she? </p><p>“I don’t-” she stammered, “I don’t want to impose…”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be imposing.” Noa said. “Honestly, I was planning on leaving. I was supposed to meet a friend, but he never showed up. I’m too old for partying like this, anyways. Heh, look at me. An old man.” </p><p>“You’re not old.” Lennon said. “I wouldn’t’ve thought you were in your thirties if you hadn’t said.” </p><p>Noa shook his head and snorted, sounding like he didn’t believe her. “Thanks, Lennon. That’s nice of you. Shall we go?” </p><p>Lennon nodded slowly, and Noa held out his arm for her to hold on to. She did so, and he led her outside.</p><p>They walked a few blocks towards the sea, to a nice apartment painted a striking bright white. There were often a lot of white buildings near the sea, she’d noticed. Apparently, the white paint didn’t hold on to heat, while black paint did. So, if your house was black, it would be much hotter inside, which wouldn’t be ideal in an already quite hot coastal town. </p><p>Noa had a few paintings hanging on his walls. There was a laptop on a blanket on the couch, and a few picture frames on a small table next to it. Noa went into the kitchen to fix them cups of tea, and Lennon looked at the pictures in the meantime. They were pictures of Noa when he was younger, maybe five or ten years ago. Him, with a group of other guys. Laughing wildly. Some seemed to have been taken in the same nightclub they were just at. </p><p>Lennon toed her shoes off and rubbed her legs a few times, trying to get the cold out. Noa came back out, holding two cups on saucers. When he saw her rubbing her own legs, he gave her one of the cups, and put the laptop on the table so he could grab the blanket and spread it over her. Lennon gave him a watery smile.</p><p>“It’s the least I can do, really.” Noa said, seemingly sensing her inner conflict.</p><p>“But you don’t have to-” Lennon started, but Noa gave her a look and Lennon shut her mouth, looking back at her cup of tea. They sat in silence for a while, until Noa’s phone went off, and he went to go answer it.</p><p>“Richard?” he asked. Whatever the person on the other side of the line said seemed to tick him off. “Oh, come on. Why did you invite me if you weren’t going to show up? This is so bloody typical of you. Damn it. Why do I try with you?” </p><p>Lennon sipped on her tea, looking at the pictures on the table again. Maybe one of the men on the photographs was this Richard guy he was talking to now. Meanwhile, Noa continued talking. “Why didn’t you ask her first? You know she’s busy with the twins. No, it’s not babysitting if it’s your kids, Rich. You’re just as much a parent to them as she is.” </p><p>Lennon frowned. Just what kind of friends did Noa have? “Yes! You should go to them! And tell them hi from uncle Noa. No, just go. Yes! Bye!” </p><p>Noa hung up the phone, swearing under his breath, Lennon couldn’t help but giggle a bit. “Who was that?” </p><p>Noa groaned, throwing himself onto the couch next to her. “That was the guy I was supposed to meet. Apparently, he didn’t actually clear it with his wife first, and she needed help taking care of their kids. They’ve got twins, nowadays. Imagine that, twins.” </p><p>He sounded a bit melancholic at the mention of the kids. He continued, staring off into space somewhere. “Rich and I are the same age. We went to school together, worked together, everything. And now he’s married. With kids. And I’m still stuck in some part-time job. Absolutely wasting my life away.”</p><p>Lennon pouted, and shuffled over on the couch to lean her head on his shoulder briefly. “You said you worked at an orchard. That sounds like fun. Bet you get to spend a lot of time in the sun? I dunno. It sounds better than an office job.” </p><p>Noa sighed. “You’re right, I shouldn’t complain. Still. It’s like he managed to get his life together, and I didn’t. I always used to think we would grow old together. Two miserable old crackheads. Not sure why that thought appealed to me, but it did. I guess we’re all a little bit mad in some way.” </p><p>“I think it sounds sweet,” Lennon smiled. “Uh, the growing old together part, I mean. Not the cocaine addiction part. I would advise against that, to be honest.” </p><p>Noa chuckled a bit. He sighed, stretching his back. He looked tired. Lennon felt tired herself. </p><p>“What do you do for a living?” Noa asked, changing the subject. Lennon shrugged. “I do all sorts of stuff. Puppet shows, I work in a store, I teach little kids about traffic… but I’m not a teacher or anything. I’m… free? a lot? I… yeah. Dunno.”</p><p>Noa closed his eyes. “I wish I could have more time off. Granted, I don’t even know what I would do with free time, but still. I reckon it’d be nice. Maybe I could drive into Hydroelectric City.” He shot Lennon a look. “Maybe I’d bleach my hair as well.” </p><p>Lennon reflexively grabbed at her hair, trying to hide it from view. “It’s… not good. I look like a whore.” </p><p>To her surprise, Noa started laughing. Lowly, at first, but eventually he was wheezing, looking at her with tears in his eyes. “Why- what even made you come to that conclusion?” </p><p>Lennon opened her mouth, but closed it again when she realized she didn’t know what to say. The old Lennon was dead. The new Lennon didn’t care about the things her father used to say. The new Lennon was cool and had a certain degree of edge to her. </p><p>“Uh, that’s the… general aesthetic I’m going for.” Lennon said, nervously twirling a short bit of hair around her pointer finger. Noa furrowed his brow, and then chuckled again. “You’re really funny, you know that?”</p><p>For some reason, that was what truly set Lennon’s journey off. Funny. That was what the new Lennon was. She was fucking hilarious. She didn’t care about anything. She wore thrifted sweaters to dance clubs. She had impromptu sleepovers with strangers. Lennon couldn’t wait to become her. </p><p>“Yeah.” Lennon said. “I know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah</p><p>leave kudos or a comment if you want  &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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